Christopher Hibbault, Roadmaker Part 17

"Let me see. I was to have seen Tomlands. He's ceding his rights in the Lodal Valley Affair and his figure goes up each day." He considered again. "Three thousand," he answered with a wide grin.

"I am abashed at my value," said Aymer gravely. "I daren't ask you to come again now."

"Oh, I'll have an extravagant fit again, some day. Where's the boy?"

His hand was in his pocket and Aymer heard the c.h.i.n.k of coin.

"At work, or should be. Don't tip him, please, Peter. He has as much as he needs."

"How do you know? A boy needs as much as he can get. Well, don't forget my advice. Don't educate him."

He was gone at last. Presumably to gather in the Lodal Rights before their value further increased.

Charles Aston did not betray any particular sorrow at missing the visitor.

"It's rather odd his turning up again now after forgetting our existence so long," he remarked, frowning. "Of course we've had correspondence--not very agreeable either."

"I can hardly wonder at his not coming to see me, at all events. It's nearly twelve years since we met, and I wasn't very polite to him that time," said Aymer wearily.

"There was a reasonable excuse for you."

"I'm afraid I did not consider reason much in those days, sir. If he'd been a saint in disguise I should have behaved like a brute just the same."

Charles Aston came and stood looking down with a kind, quiet, satisfied smile. The att.i.tude was the same as Peter Masters' and Aymer, remembering it, smiled too.

"What did he really want, Aymer? He never came for nothing."

"To induce me to go on the Stock-Exchange in partnership with him, I think. Thought it would be less boring than lying here all day with nothing to do."

Charles Aston opened his mouth to protest and shut it resolutely, turned and walked down the room ruffling his hair, so that when he went back to Aymer, his iron-grey thatch was more picturesque than neat.

Aymer laughed.

"Who's lost his temper now?" he demanded.

His father looked in a gla.s.s and, perceiving the devastation, attempted to remedy it.

"I'm awfully sorry," he said with much contrition, "but I can't keep my temper over Peter. Has he improved?"

"Not a bit. He doesn't hurt, father, he's too big," he paused a moment, "he saw Christopher."

Mr. Aston gave Aymer a scrutinising glance.

"It was unavoidable, I suppose."

"I did not try to stop it."

"And the result?"

"There was no result except he appeared impressed with his mental capacity."

Mr. Aston ruffled his hair again in a perturbed manner.

"Didn't he see his likeness to his mother, Aymer?"

"Apparently not. It's not so strong as it was. He offered me advice on his upbringing."

"Did he?" with an indignant shake of the head.

"All in good faith," said Aymer steadily, "he said he didn't approve of education; as a proof of his sincerity, he cited the line he was taking with his own boy."

There was a silence.

"He said he could put his hand on him when he liked." Aymer's voice was quite level and inexpressive, but his father leant forward and put his hand on his, saying hastily.

"He always says that. He believes it just a matter of money. It was his one answer to all my remonstrances. When he wanted him he could find him--not before. Aymer, I wish I'd been at home. Why did you see him?"

"I could hardly refuse; it would have been churlish--unpolitic. I did not know why he came. He was evidently struck with Christopher."

He laughed a little unsteadily, but his father smothered a sigh and watched him with curious solicitude. The unwritten law that Christopher had learnt so well had been very heavily infringed, and Charles Aston had no liking for the man who had infringed it, though he was his first cousin.

He was weighing in his mind what his son must have suffered in that interview, and trying to see if it could have been foreseen and prevented.

Peter and Aymer, who was only five years his junior, had been great friends in the far-off days before the tragedy, but the former was too nearly, though half unconsciously, connected with that to be a possible intimate for Aymer now. The possibility of his turning up in this casual manner, ignoring with ruthless amiability all that had pa.s.sed, had really never occurred to either father or son, and they were both unprepared for a narrowly escaped crisis. But Aymer was evidently not going to own frankly how great had been the strain and how badly he had suffered under it. He set his pride to heal his bruised feelings, however, applauding himself secretly for not betraying to his cousin the torture to which he had unintentionally put him. But he could not, having done this, altogether put it from him, and the subject of Peter Masters cropped up next morning when Christopher was sitting on the edge of Caesar's bed.

Aymer asked him abruptly what he thought of the visitor of the previous day.

"I don't like him at all. I think he's beastly," was Master Christopher's emphatic verdict.

"He is my second cousin, his mother was an Aston, and he is one of the richest men in England, if not quite the richest. He is thought rich even in America."

"And horrid, too, just the same: only perhaps I oughtn't to say so as he is your cousin," added the boy with sudden confusion.

Aymer regarded him with an introspective air.

"He is a strange man, though many people don't like him. We were great friends once."

Christopher opened his eyes very wide.

"_You_--and Mr. Masters?"

"Yes--when I was a young man like others. We quarrelled--or rather I quarrelled--he came to see me when I was first--ill," he jerked the word out awkwardly, but never took his eyes from Christopher's face.

"I was perfectly brutal to him. That's twelve years ago. Most men would never have spoken to me again, but he doesn't bear malice."

"He wouldn't mind what anyone said to him," persisted Christopher; "fancy your being friends!"

"You like me best then?"

Master Christopher caught up a pillow and hurled it at him, and then made a violent effort to smother him under it.